


Exchanging Body Heat

by cecilkirk



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 00:04:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5805523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilkirk/pseuds/cecilkirk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirty talk can work better than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exchanging Body Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thieves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thieves/gifts).



Brendon can have a dirty mouth when he wants to.

“I wanna see you under me, Ryan,” Brendon growls from the passenger seat. “I wanna feel your muscles tense against my palms.”

Ryan swallowed and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Brendon, stop.”

“You don’t say that often.”

Ryan kept his eyes on the road. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Brendon was slouching, legs spread with a knee against the car door. He probably had one hand’s splayed fingers over his mouth, one presumably just past inside his lower lip.

“Brendon, I just want to go out to dinner,” Ryan pleaded. “You know, the one you asked me out to.”

“Food’s boring. I wanted to taste something better.” The other hand makes its way to Ryan’s thigh, tracing patterns through his jeans with fingers light enough to make shivers scurry up his spine.

Ryan could feel his face burn. His knuckles had turned white.

“Aww, you embarrassed, Ross?” Brendon teased with a sinful tongue as he slipped his hand between Ryan’s thighs, thumb just inside the waistband of his jeans.

“Brendon, we’re meeting people. We have a double date. We need to—”

Ryan sucked in a breath, the pitch wavering in his throat. Brendon traced patterns over where the zipper lay.

“Mm,” he continued as he saw Ryan adjust himself, swatting away Brendon’s hand. “Apparently so,” Brendon said, ignoring Ryan’s comment. He didn’t bear look but he could almost hear Brendon grinning smugly. He felt like his face might catch on fire, and as he came to a red light he imagined what their windshield must look like: Ryan’s tight, rigid frame; Brendon’s narrow eyes and secretive smirks.

“Brendon, I think you’d be doing something you’ll come to regret,” Ryan tried as he went forward once the light changed.

A growl: “But _you_ won’t.”

Ryan swallowed.

Brendon pressed his fingertips against Ryan’s jeans, tracing harder. It wasn’t much, but enough for Ryan’s palms to ache from gripping the steering wheel, his gritting teeth the loudest thing in his ears.

Three blocks away, just three blocks. They would be there in—

Ryan presses his back against the seat, locking his elbows. Brendon’s fingers are inside his boxers, ghosting over what’s important. His knuckles are straining the material, making the waistband bite into his hips. “ _Brendon._ ” It comes out on air alone, so breathy he wonders if it’s even audible.

Brendon ventures further and further, until—

Ryan accidentally slams on the acceleration, causing them to speed through a red light.

“Ooh, easy there.” It’s jovial and rumbly, sitting low in his throat. It sounds accessible to Ryan. He can kiss it out, pry it from his throat and taste it himself.

“Shit,” Ryan says, aware that he could have just been in danger.

“ _Shit_ ,” Ryan spits, realizing avoidance isn’t the solution. He pulls the car over, next to an open field, away from houses.

He meets Brendon’s eyes. They’re dark and deep, far more than Ryan can read.

He shifts into park, unbuckles, and climbs over the console. He sits on Brendon’s lap, facing him, foot thudding into the door. Ryan touches his face, stares into his dark, dark eyes. In the pale orange of the streetlight, they are not illuminated. The warmly painted angles of his face are ethereal, but the depth of his eyes is quite familiar to Ryan. Brendon does not hesitate to pull Ryan’s pants and boxers down enough for him to grab his cock.

Ryan pushes his forehead against Brendon’s and feels Brendon kiss his lips as he struggles to breathe. Brendon’s hands ghost over Ryan’s cock, the light touches sending shivers through him. He grips the sides of the headrest, nails digging.

Ryan kisses Brendon back, a sensation to focus on, something he _can_ focus on. His grip loosens and his breathing evens out. Brendon must be aware, because he ends it.

“Brendon _Boyd_ —” Ryan gasps as Brendon squeezes his cock. His back arches, gripping at Brendon’s shoulders. Brendon kisses Ryan’s neck, humming along to the song on the radio. The vibrations are torturous on Ryan’s skin. Brendon pries a hand from his shoulder and holds it in his own, and their fingers interlock.

Brendon kept the pace and changes in pressure inconsistent, leaving Ryan unable to predict. Ryan moves his free hand to Brendon’s tee shirt, fisting it, feeling his nails claw against Brendon’s chest. His other hand squeezes Brendon’s desperately, digging his fingernails into Brendon’s skin. Brendon hisses, but it only makes Ryan’s breathing harder.

Ryan scrambles to even his breathing. He tries to focus on Brendon kissing his neck, but the more attention he devotes the more he enjoys it, the more detail washes over him. And then Brendon licks his neck, all along the length of his trachea, squeezing his cock hard and moving his hand even faster. His breath is short and his hands ache and he can’t, he can’t—

“I— _oh!_ ” Ryan cries out. His whole body spasms—hands clench, lungs stopped, eyes squeezed shut. He came on Brendon’s tee shirt, the one he’s wearing to their _date_ —

Brendon’s hand is wet. He sticks a finger in his mouth, knuckle to lips, and slowly pulls its length out with a crisp _pop_ , not breaking eye contact with Ryan. Sweat sticks his hair to the tops of his ears. Brendon’s eyes are not any less dark.

Brendon pulls off his shirt, balls it up, and tosses it into the backseat. His hands are on Ryan’s hips, waiting for him to make the next move.

And he does.

He grabs Brendon’s face, kissing his way into his mouth. Brendon exhales, light over Ryan’s nose and face. He curls his fingers into Brendon’s hair and it’s so sweaty, and it should be disgusting, it really should, but it makes Ryan push his tongue into Brendon’s mouth, and his moan is anything but a deterrent. Ryan pulls away—maybe because he needs air, or maybe just to be a tease—and kisses Brendon’s neck, mouth just ghosting his skin until his lips begin touching goosebumps.

“Jesus, Ryan,” Brendon gasps, hands squeezing his hips. Ryan will be damned if this will drive him away, either. He kisses Brendon’s neck with full contact, pressing heavier and heavier kisses and then slipping tongue through, and Ryan can hear Brendon suck in a ragged breath. He kisses, one hand around Brendon’s waist and another on his thigh, gravitating upward to what’s important, and—

Ryan’s phone vibrates in the cup holder, impossibly loud against the plastic. He pulls back and looks down at Brendon, red cheeks and pink chest and flustered eyes.

“We better get going, yeah?” Ryan says smoothly, his deep voice surprising even to his own ears. He pulls off his sweatshirt and gives it to Brendon as he climbs into the driver’s seat. He starts the car, driving for less than a minute, when from beside him:

“Jesus, Ryan.”

Brendon’s looking out the side window, readjusting his pants and pulling the sleeves of Ryan’s sweatshirt over his hands.

Ryan smirks. This was as good a predecessor to a date as he could have imagined.


End file.
